A Flower By Any Other Name
by StrwbrryMlkshks
Summary: A darker take on the BWL origins; an 11-year-old orphan raised by her unwelcoming aunt and uncle is accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Primrose Potter was not what the magical world imagined when they thought of a hero. Sorted into Slytherin, perhaps no one knew just how true that was. Progressively darker fem Harry, mature and sexual themes. Not for children.
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: **The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. All rights reserved to J K Rowling.

**Credits: **The Garden Gate by Nati Deviantart

**Warning: **Adult contents, Dark themes, Not for children.

* * *

**A Flower By Any Other Name**

**The Beginning**

1978

Lily Potter cried bitter tears as she lay clutching the edge of the bathtub. Her face was ashen and sweat-stained, her nightgown covered in a patch of blood which smeared red on the glistening white tiles of the lavish bathroom. Beside her lay a small lump, barely the size of a walnut and covered by a blood soaked hand towel. This was her third miscarriage and her heart lay shattered at another loss.

Lily had never thought much about motherhood or children, like everyone else she had taken for granted the gift of being able to procreate. It was when James had sat her down and told her of the Potter line's low fertility- how Euphemia and Fleamont were almost resigned to having the Potter line die with them before James' miraculous conception that Lily slowly grew conscious of the fact that she may possibly never have a child with the man she loved.

It surprised her how much that knowledge hurt her.

When she grew pregnant, Lily had been elated and relieved. She was so very thankful and blessed that they could be the exceptions- that they could start a family with ease. Until the first miscarriage happened.

Lily hadn't cried then, having still been hopeful that it was just a stroke of bad luck. She was freshly graduated from Hogwarts at the time, there was a Dark Lord wreaking horrors around her. Her body hadn't been prepared.

She cried the second time she miscarried but her heart was still brimming with optimism. By then Lily was aching for a child, every loss so far building upon her desire to nurture and give life. Certainly the third time would be the charm?

This time Lily was certain it would kill her if it happened again.

It took months of perusing magical tomes and remedies before she realised nothing worked and then despite her reservations she took to looking at darker tomes and literature.

_"What would you sacrifice to gain something you most desire?"_

It was there at a crossroads during a full moon on a chillingly cold windy night that Lily was faced with a demon. One she summoned. She wondered how it came to this. James would be furious if he knew.

What would she sacrifice in order to gain something she most desired?

She surmised that as long as no life was lost, she would be able to sacrifice anything.

That night Lily Potter broke her own rib and with her own two hands snapped a piece and offered it to the demon.

Ground to dust then mixed with blood so black it looked like tar, Lily drank the concoction returned to her.

* * *

It was Autumn 1979 when Lily found out she was pregnant. This time was different. Five months passed by harmlessly and then it turned into seven months, before long it was the 31st of July 1980 and Lily was once more ashen-faced and sweat stained. This time however there was an unmistakeable glow of joy as she cradled her squirming, _live_, baby.

It had fiery red hair and bright green eyes; her sweet little girl.

Primrose for _'I can't live without you' _because Lily knew upon laying eyes on her that she could not.

Primrose Lily Potter.

All was perfect.

Until the prophecy happened.

* * *

Perhaps she got a taste for it, or perhaps she was just desperate, Lily didn't know but once more she was at a crossroads and once more she was face to face with the demon who gifted Lily her child.

_"What would you sacrifice for the life of your child?"_

Anything.

If it meant protecting her from the Dark Lord's grasps, Lily could sacrifice anything.

The demon gave her a vial; the liquid was the colour of rust. Lily didn't dare ask what it was.

"_Baptise your babe and know that the curse of death shall not take her." _

Upon emerging from the bloody waters of her unholy baptism, Primrose's fiery hair was now peppered with golden strands.

Lily did not know what she sacrificed for this gift.

* * *

The night the Dark Lord entered Godric's Hollow, Lily's faith in the demon wavered. She could not stand aside and test whether her child truly was safe, and so she begged. She begged like the desperate mother she was and then she fell like her husband.

What the demon left unspoken was that the life of a child was precious, and so too must the sacrifice be great for twisting and perverting something so innocent- for that was what she had done. Lily Potter and James Potter were never destined to live.

The killing curse rebounded and Primrose Potter was hailed the Girl-Who-Lived.

As she was abandoned on the doorsteps of her unsuspecting relatives, and with all the celebrations happening throughout the United Kingdom, no one heard as Sybil Trelawney uttered another prophecy.

"_Fate-marked, Unholy Messiah. Never to walk within the hallowed gardens of Eden. Damned is she whom life shall never grow. Queen to all creatures of Lilith's making. Sons of Adam will bend knee at her Glory. Hail the Dark Mistress for her path marks a metamorphosis that all magical kind will feel. "_


	2. Chapter One

**A Flower By Any Other Name**

**Chapter One**

The first real epiphany that Primrose Potter had was that she was an unwanted child. It seaped through every pore of the Dursleys, creating an unseen stench within the house like a dark and heavy cloud full of acid rather than rain. It didn't matter if she was good or bad, they treated her like a vermin that kept on surviving despite all the precautions they took.

And in a way, wasn't she?

They tried beating her, starving her, hiding her away in the cupboard under the stairs- and still despite it all, she was surviving.

Maybe it might have been a blessing to just die. Even humans felt pity for tortured mice.

It didn't help that strange things happened around her— the way flora turned to ashes within her hands, the way animals feared her; all except snakes. She never told the Dursleys she could understand them for fear of what would become of her.

Perhaps what really set her apart from everyone else was the fact that the very sight of holy objects seemed to nauseate her, and prayers made her nose bleed like a fountain.

Or even worse, the way men seemed to _look_ at her.

She'd heard Petunia Dursley hissing in the kitchen once quietly to her husband the word 'unholy'.

Maybe she was. Maybe that was why God did not intervene when terrible things happened to her.

The vilest part about it, not that her aunt would ever know, was how Primrose secretly enjoyed the way she could affect them. It was power, and she couldn't help but enjoy what little she had.

It was the rush she got where with just a pitiful look at her cousin during dinnertime when she was left without made him sneak some leftovers into her cupboard. She could only survive on scraps for so long after all.

Or the way Vernon could never keep her locked away too long because he liked to stare at her. Yes, it wasn't hard to notice his gaze as she went about with her never-ending list of chores in the house.

Primrose knew that whatever thrall she had on men was a blessing rather than a curse. She probably might have been dead already had she been normal.

—

"UP! Get up! Now!"

Primrose woke to the the shrill sound of her aunt and the blindingly bright light of the cupboard door opening.

"Yes Aunt Petunia," she mumbled sleepily, for fear of her aunt clipping her by the ear for being 'rude'. She wished she could have slept longer, she was having a lovely dream about a poppy field, red skies and apples which tasted unlike anything she had ever had.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Primrose was commanded to watch over the bacon. She internally groaned at the fact that she had forgotten that today of all days was Dudley's birthday. How could she have tuned out weeks of Aunt Petunia's planning and gushing of her little Diddykin's 'big day', she didn't know.

"Comb your hair!" came a gruff voice behind her, making Primrose jump, turning around she watched as her uncle's gaze travelled down her body from her head to her toes. It made her feel somewhat sick but she still gave a mischievous quirk of her lips and replied "yes, uncle Vernon," as she ran her fingers through her hair. It wasn't what he meant and they both knew it.

His gaze burned even stronger on her back and she hoped he choked on the bacon and eggs Aunt Petunia placed in front of him.

By then Dudley had already come into the kitchen with Aunt Petunia soppily gushing about how 'grown' he was. Primrose could agree, he certainly grew alright. Dudley could now be considered a baby whale if looked at through squinted eyes. Or a pig in a wig.

Primrose's shoulder sagged as she saw her cousin's face fall whilst counting his presents. It was a tell-tale sign that he was dangerously close to a tantrum.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

Primrose could see that Aunt Petunia sensed danger and hoping to appease her son she said, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

Primrose held back her desire to roll her eyes. At the rate they were encouraging his greedy behaviour, by the time Dudley was thirteen they better have forty-three presents or god help them.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Primrose and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take _her_." She jerked her head in Primrose's direction.

Dudley looked up from his present with interest. Primrose's heart gave a leap. She hoped they would just leave her home.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Primrose as though she'd planned this. She could scoff at the thought. If Primrose could plan broken legs she'd have given the batty woman one ages ago to save herself from having to suffer through hours of cat photographs.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl."

The Dursleys often spoke about her as though she wasn't there — or rather, as though she were incapable of understanding human speech.

It solidified something important in her developing mind— Those with no value were treated as such. If you wanted to be treated well, you needed to have something the other did not. It was why she was treated so horribly while Uncle Vernon's coworkers and bosses were fawned upon.

Primrose knew she held no value right now. No parents, no money, nothing that could give her any sort worth as a human. But it was why she studied so hard despite the beatings she received when she did better than Dudley at school. It was why she spent all her time reading the discarded books that Dudley never touched or spending her free time at the library. Knowledge was a form of power and she never had enough.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"

"You could just leave me here," Primrose suggested hopefully, she'd be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer.

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," she promised, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "… and leave her in the car…"

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone…"

By this point Dudley's face was scrunched up in conflicting emotions with Petunia petting him in a mad attempt to 'soothe' him.

"It's fine. She can come." said Dudley snootily, looking at her as if he'd generously offered something grand.

All of them were in a state of shock before Petunia flung herself onto him in a tight embrace, sobbing about how he was such a 'kind, sweet boy' and that his 'generosity was wasted upon someone so undeserving'.

Primrose wished he'd have just demanded that she couldn't go.

Just then, the doorbell rang — "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. He also had the most irritating habit of touching her without permission. Primrose couldn't count the number of times both he and Dudley had chased her down and restrained her so they could- well, she didn't know really. They'd usually just observe her or touch her, it was uncomfortably odd. She didn't like it at all when they'd lean in close enough that she could feel their breath on her skin. After a while they'd release her no worse for wear. But something about it just seemed...off.

They called it 'Primrose Hunting'.

She avoided getting caught like her life depended on it.

Half an hour later, Primrose who couldn't believe her rotten luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley uncomfortably sandwiching her on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Not before Uncle Vernon had taken her aside of course.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to her own, "I'm warning you now, girl — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

At such close range, the only thought in Primrose's mind was how strangely dilated her uncle's pupils were. He almost looked like an owl.

"I'm not going to do anything," she replied breathlessly, the way he held her somewhat choked her. There was a long pause in which her uncle simply blew hot breaths in her face before shoving her away.

Nothing else was said.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Primrose what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Primrose thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond. The only thing which she could have done without was Dudley, Piers and Vernon's rapt attention at her eating it. Of course they did hurriedly look away when Aunt Petunia cleared her throat furiously before aggressively steering them to look at the lions. Serves them right for being rude.

Primrose had, surprisingly, the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of cornering her and being strange. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Primrose was allowed to finish the first.

She felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Primrose moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with her own.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Primrose a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time."

"I know," she murmured through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear her. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Primrose asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Primrose peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and she read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see — so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, Primrose felt clammy hands gliding up her thigh and up her dress (which was actually just one of Dudley's shirts with a belt around it) to grip her hip before she was pushed against the window of the exhibit, painfully.

"How did you do that?!" hissed the very familiar voice of Piers.

"Get off me!" Primrose hissed back, wincing as the hand on her hip clenched tighter.

"Or what?" the boy taunted, pressing himself even closer to her. He reeked of sweat and there was something poking her back which left her feeling trapped and uneasy.

Before she could respond, they both jumped at the deafening shout behind them, Piers hastily retreated.

"MUM! DAD! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, shoving Primrose roughly aside. Caught by surprise, she fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Primrose sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Primrose heard a low, hissing voice say, "Brazil, here I come… Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Primrose had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Primrose at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, with a nasty look on his face, "Primrose was talking to it, weren't you, Primrose?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Primrose. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go — cupboard — stay — no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Primrose lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know what time it was and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

This had been her life as long as she could remember. Part of her dreamed of her parents being alive and sober, knocking on the Dursley's doors one day to spirit her away. The other part resented them deeply for dying.

If they never died, she would never have been left with these horrible people.

It was these type of nights where Primrose resolved that she had to be something great; she had to be successful and powerful.

No one was ever going to treat her like this again, and one day not even the Dursleys.

—

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Primrose her longest-ever punishment. Uncle Vernon was absolutely furious indeed. By the time she was allowed out of her cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Primrose was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite hobby of 'Primrose Hunting'. They were nasty, the lot of them. Especially Gordon who gave the other boys the idea to start touching her inner thigh and chest. It was humiliating and disgusting.

This was why Primrose spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came she would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in her life, she wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Primrose, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall, if you're a boy that is" he told Primrose when they were left alone, "they do something else to the girls, something much worse."

"Oh? like what?" Primrose challenged, partly curious.

"I don't know, I've heard Gordon and Dennis talking about it, they have older brothers who go there . It's definitely dreadful though."

"Can't be worse than living with you," was Primrose's smart reply before running away.

—

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Primrose at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Primrose watch television and gave her a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As she looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Primrose didn't trust herself to speak. She thought two of her ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Primrose went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. She went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" she asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if she dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Primrose looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," she said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Primrose seriously doubted this, mostly because she was quite certain that Dudley definitely did not own any skirts- which was part of the female school uniform, but thought it best not to argue. She sat down at the table and tried not to think about how she was going to look on her first day at Stonewall High — like she was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Primrose's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Primrose get it."

"Get the mail, Primrose."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Primrose dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Primrose.

Primrose picked it up and stared at it, her heart thumping with curiosity. No one, ever, in her whole life, had written to her. Who would? She had no friends, no other relatives — while she did go to the Library, she didn't belong to it, so she'd never even gotten rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Miss P. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

What Primrose never realised was how one innocent letter could change the course of her entire life and subsequently create such chaos within the Dursley household.

At least she wouldn't have to wear that atrocious 'uniform'.


	3. Chapter Two

**A Flower By Any Other Name**

**Chapter One**

Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

Primrose was awestruck.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Primrose wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Primrose's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," she heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever - " There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Primrose had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Primrose. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Primrose noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Primrose made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss Primrose Potter's safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Primrose watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

"W-wait!" Primrose cried out causing the goblin to turn and then recoil at the sight of her. He had been too preoccupied to really look at her but now he was pale and trembling.

"M-my Lady" said the Goblin reverently, Primrose was startled.

"I'm sorry, sir, but may I please speak to someone regarding my finances. I didn't realise I was left with anything, you see," said Primrose politely and noticing Hagrid looking at her with a troubled expression, added "Please feel free to let Mr. Griphook take Hagrid to his vault, I wouldn't want to take up too much time."

"Of course,"

"But Primrose-"

"Please, Hagrid? I just want to have a quick talk, I promise by the time you finish with your vault I'll be finished with mine too," she pleaded and Hagrid softened under her pitiful expression.

"All right, I'll be back soon," he said doubtfully as he left with Griphook.

"Now, as for someone I can speak to regarding my account?" Primrose asked turning back to the trembling Goblin.

"Of course my lady, Ironmaw holds the accounts of the Potters, he will speak with you in his office, if you'll follow me."

She was lead down a grand hallway before being escorted into a rather lavish office. Ironmaw too trembled at the sight of her. How strange.

"My name is Ironmaw, my lady, how may I be of service?"

"I've been muggle-raised until my eleventh birthday, I wish to know more about my finances, how much I've inherited and things like that."

"I see, as heir to the Noble House of Potter you own Vault 687, Vault 688 and as you are the last living descendent of Linfred of Stinchecombe, reknowned maker of Skele-gro and the Pepper-up potion, you also own Vault 413." began the nervous Goblin, "Unfortunately as you are still not of age, your only access is Vault 687 which is your trust vault."

"How much do I have in each vault?"

"You trust Vault is topped up every year with 10,000 Galleons not exceeding the overall amount of 30,000 Galleons. That is, the vault will maintain £149,399. 99 until you are of age. Your main Potter vault contains a total of 821,699 Galleons 3 Sickles and 13 Knuts which in total is £4,092,061.97— Vault 413 which you have inherited contains 649 Galleons 25 Sickles and 14 Knuts which total to £3239.99."

Primrose felt like she could faint, hearing the numbers. Who would have thought that she would be filthy rich.

"D-do I own any properties?" she asked.

"Yes you own Godrics Hollow, which is in disrepair, as well as Potter Manor which you may gain access to once you are of age."

"I-uh... I see" Primrose murmured dazedly, still wrapping her mind around the concept of owning so much money. "Thank you. Might I ask if there's any way I can access my trust vault without coming to the bank?"

"You may purchase a Goblin-made pouch for 25 Galleons. It enables conversion of funds and access to your vault without the need to come in, however I must warn against any others attempting to withdraw funds out of your pouch or else they risk losing their hand."

"I'd like one of those please."

—

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid when they met up once more, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Primrose, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Primrose entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Primrose started to speak. "Got the lot here - a young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

"Yes, I'm also in need of an entirely new wardrobe, would that be possible?"

Madam Malkin's eyes lit up with excitement, "Why of course my dear!"

She was lead into the back of the shop where a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Primrose on a stool next to him before tittering about the store excitedly.

She was asked a flurry of questions regarding the fabric, whether she wanted spells on them, what style she going for, Primrose honestly didn't mind so long as they fit her body and wasn't Dudley's hand-me-downs. This lit up another wave of excitement under Madam Malkin as she was basically given free reign of her attires.

The boy next to her had suggested acromantula silk as an ideal blouse or skirt which she eagerly took on board. She didn't know what it was but if it came with a recommendation then she didn't dare reject it.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy while Madam Malkin was preoccupied. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Primrose was fascinated by everything he was saying. She was also oddly surprised by how he didn't seem to stare at her like the other boys inevitably did. But then she noticed how the tips of his ears were a bright pink and she realised he was intentionally trying not to. This made her smile at him appreciatively.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Primrose.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Primrose said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be, "but I noticed that the Nimbus Two Thousand is currently for sale?" hoping to not give him one worded answers. This made the boy light up.

"I know! It's the fastest broom ever made! I'm hoping to get father to buy me one." he said enthusiastically, "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"I'm not sure," Primrose answered nervously, she felt like she was desperately trying to keep her head above water, nothing he said really made sense but she didn't want him to know that. She didn't like being so ignorant. "What about you?"

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Why Slytherin?" she asked curiously, the boy looked at her with pride.

"Slytherin is the house of the cunning and the great," he boasted, "only the powerful go into Slytherin."

This made Primrose pause, she wanted to be powerful. She wanted to be great.

"I hope to get into Slytherin then," she hummed thoughtfully, this made the boy smile. They were interrupted once more as Madam Malkin lead her towards the female change rooms to try on some of the outfits. Primrose later realised she never got to ask the boy his name.

By the time Hagrid came back, Primrose had a decently sized bundle of clothing. They were all surprisingly cool-toned, something about it enhancing her hair and eyes. Of course there were also a few articles of clothing that were red and brown as well. In total it had cost her around 150 Galleons including her uniform.

Primrose was pleasantly surprised and oddly touched that Hagrid had bought her ice cream, she couldn't remember the last time she ever had chocolate and she was certain she'd never had raspberry or any sort of nuts. It was delicious.

They stopped to buy parchment and quills, Primrose was thrilled when she found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, she said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Primrose, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know - not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"It involves brooms doesn't it?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like - like soccer in the Muggle world - everyone follows Quidditch - played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls - sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"I see, it sounds interesting." Primrose replied, and it did. The concept of a sports played on a broomstick in the air sounded very exciting.

They bought Primrose's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Primrose felt like she was in a pleasure haze as she grabbed as many books of interest as she could. Hagrid had attempted to drag her away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian. But with a pouty, doe eyed look and a promise that she wasn't going to try and use any of them— how she was so _ignorant_ of everything magical and she just wanted to learn more, that Hagrid let her have free reign of the bookstore.

"Jus' know yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," Hagrid warned. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Primrose took the last part as a challenge.

Along with the list of required books, and the book by Vindictus, Primrose also bought things of interest such as 'Blood Brothers: My life amongst the Vampires' by Eldrid Worple, 'Hairy Snout, Human Heart' by an anonymous author, 'A Children's Anthology of Monsters' by Newton Scamander, and with Hagrid's helpful suggestion of stroking its spine; 'The Monster book of Monsters' by Edwardus Lima. Of course she also bought practical books such as 'Charms of Defence and Deterrence' by Catallus Spangle, 'A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions', 'Practical Household Magic' by Zamira Gulch, 'The Healer's Helpmate' by H. Pollingtonious, 'Healing at Home with Herbs' by Phyllida Spore, and 'Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimensy' by Franciscus Fieldwake.

Hagrid looked incredibly frazzled by the time they finally left Flourish & Blotts, mumbling to himself about a 'raven's claw' or some such.

When they entered Potage's Cauldron Shop Hagrid refused to let Primrose buy a solid gold cauldron, much to her disappointment ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited Slug and Jiggers Apothecary which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Primrose, Primrose herself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop). She was itching to open up her textbooks and get to reading, especially Potions. She wanted to know what all these strange items did.

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Primrose's list again.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

She felt herself go red.

"You don't have to-"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Primrose now carried a large cage that held a beautiful red morph Eastern Screech Owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Oddly enough it was the only breed of owl which didn't flutter in fear at the sight of her. Feeling her throat close up with emotion, Primrose hugged Hagrid, choking out a muffled 'Thank you'.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand... this was what Primrose had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Mr. Ollivander unnerved her, his white eyes seemed to see things she could never hope to imagine and it frightened her a bit. After what felt like an eternity in the dusty, magic-soaked store, Primrose left with a wand. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Primrose and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Primrose didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the screech owl asleep in its cage on her lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Primrose only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Primrose a hamburger, something she had never had the luxury of trying, and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Primrose kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Primrose? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

She wasn't sure she could explain. She'd just had the best birthday of her life - and yet - she chewed her hamburger, it tasted like her tongue was melting; divine.

She tried to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry - I mean, the night my parents died. What if I turn out mediocre? What if I'm-"

Her biggest fear was that the Dursleys were right and even in the magical world she was weak, useless and unremarkable.

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Primrose. You'll learn fast enough. I jus' know yer goin' to be somethin' the world has never seen before. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts - I did - still do, 'smatter of fact."

It made her feel a bit better but she knew that she was at a disadvantage. She needed to study her books, she needed to get ahead.

Hagrid helped Primrose on to the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September - King's Cross - it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me... See yeh soon, Primrose." Hagrid petted her head gently.

The train pulled out of the station. Primrose wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.


	4. Chapter Three

**A Flower By Any Other Name**

**Chapter Three**

Primrose's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun.

It was strange having a bedroom upstairs with the rest of the family. Dudley avoided her like the plague, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were so furious over the tail Dudley sported, and the fact that she was going to Hogwarts that they pretended she didn't exist, though at night she knew that someone was standing outside the door. They would hover there for a few moments before creaking away. It happened quite often.

Primrose kept to her new room, with her new owl for company. She had decided to call her Hedwig, a name she had found in A History of Magic. Her school books were absolutely fascinating, laying on her bed reading late into the night in a mad attempt to absorb all the knowledge she could, Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because Hedwig kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before she went to sleep, Primrose ticked off another day on the piece of paper she had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.

On the last day of August she thought she'd better speak to her aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so she went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. She cleared her throat to let them know she was there, and Dudley gave her a nasty but lingering look. He was beginning to be more comfortable around her again, possibly because she hardly ever left her room now.

"Er - Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted, turning to look at her for a moment, lingering on her new clothes; a modest brown button up skirt with a white blouse, before focusing on the television again. Aunt Petunia had given her the most sourest of expressions when she realised that Primrose had bought new clothes the first night back from her Diagon Alley trip. They never mentioned it of course, but the displeasure was palpable.

"Er - I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to - to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt. Primrose supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you."

She was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Primrose didn't say anything. It would only make him upset if she told him that magic carpets were regulated and mostly found within middle eastern magical communities.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Primrose, realizing this for the first time. Hogwarts, A History didn't mention it. She pulled the ticket Hagrid had given her out of her pocket.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," she read.

Her aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket."

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Primrose asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

Primrose woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. She got up and pulled on a knitted olive coloured long sleeved dress which sat comfortably above her knee because she didn't want to walk into the station in her wizard's robes - she'd change on the train. Then checked her Hogwarts list yet again to make sure she had everything she needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Primrose's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Primrose, not that he protested much, keen to simply stare at her thighs, which were visibly for once, (Dudley's hand-me-downs were too big for her small frame and tended to go down to almost her ankles) and they had set off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Primrose's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for her. Primrose thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, girl. Platform nine - platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Primrose turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing. Her mouth went rather dry. What on earth was she going to do? She was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Hedwig. She'd have to ask someone.

Primrose stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when she couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though Primrose was being stupid on purpose.

Getting desperate, Primrose asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Primrose was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, she had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and she had no idea how to do it; she was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk she could hardly lift, and a large owl.

Leaning against a barrier in order to avoid the throng of crowds, Primrose squeaked as the wall gave way and everything around her distorted.

Of course. A magical platform.

She hurriedly went back through the barrier to grab her trolley, half cursing Hagrid for forgetting to mention it, then cursing 'Hogwarts, A History' for not mentioning it either.

Stepping up onto the train, Primrose looked around for an empty compartment but instead she opened one with a familiar face inside; the blonde boy from Madam Malkin's.

Gray eyes lit up in recognition, "it's you! come in," the boy drawled, standing up to help her with her trunk, she was blessed that his two companions were strong enough to lift it into the overhead compartment.

"Thank you," she huffed gratefully, partly relieved that she wasn't late and also because she was exhausted. Sitting opposite him, she relaxed.

"It's so uncivilised outside, you'd think they'd organise everything a bit better, instead it's like a human menagerie." sneered the boy, "mother and father thankfully brought me here a bit earlier to save myself from being jostled about."

"You're lucky, I wish I'd come earlier" Primrose replied.

The compartment slid open once more and a pretty girl with dark hair and blue eyes entered.

"Greengrass," greeted the boy cooly, the girl gave him a polite nod, "Malfoy," she answered back.

The train slowly started moving and before the door could close completely, another boy came inside with a pug faced girl. They all greeted each other with familiarity making Primrose feel out of place.

"Where's Nott?" asked the dark skinned boy called 'Zabini'.

"Probably held back by the large crowd in the hallway," said the pug faced girl called 'Parkinson'.

She turned out to be right as a brown haired boy soon squeezed himself inside. This most likely being 'Nott'.

"Who is this?" demanded 'Parkinson' finally noticing her and giving Primrose a rather not-friendly look. All attention turned towards her which made her tense.

"This is-" Malfoy started before frowning, "actually I don't think we exchanged names, I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, and you are?"

"You didn't ask her name?" asked Greengrass, her eyebrow raised in surprise.

"We were rather preoccupied at Madam Malkin's." was his cold reply. Primrose couldn't help but prefer his smiling face to this one. He seemed like a completely different boy now from the rather open and friendly person she had met.

"My name is Primrose," Primrose interrupted, "Primrose Potter."

Seven pairs of eyes widened.

"Are you really?" asked 'Zabini' with a tinge of scepticism.

"No, I'm lying." she answered sarcastically giving him an expression she hoped conveyed 'are you stupid?'. He had the decency to look away, rather embarrassed.

"Forgive me," he said apologetically, "My name is Blaise Zabini, pleasure to meet you."

Primrose couldn't help but admire how fast he recovered, she gave him a friendly smile which made his ears turn a darker shade.

"My name is Daphne Greengrass, that's Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott." Greengrass said as she introduced the others, "Those two over there are Crabb and Goyle."

Primrose found it interesting that she didn't say their full names. Clearly they were lower in the hierarchy scale.

"Pleasure," she greeted.

"Is it true you have a scar?" Asked Parkinson, Primrose had a strong feeling she wouldn't get along with this girl. The room all gave Parkinson a discreetly dirty look, clearly she had broken some sort of protocol.

"I do." was Primrose's curt reply, not particularly feeling for this line of topic either.

"Well, show us then." demanded Parkinson rather rudely.

"I'd much rather not." she answered back as Malfoy said in a dry tone "I think we could all do without having Potter parade her scars around for our amusement."

They were thankfully interrupted as a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Primrose who did not have breakfast, stood up, as did surprisingly everyone else. Primrose was awed by the range of what the woman had, having expected Mars Bars rather than magical food. Bit silly of her really. What the woman did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Primrose had never seen in her life.

Not wanting to miss anything, she got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Primrose blushed when the group saw her rather embarrassingly large pile.

"I'm sorry, I've never had magical sweets before, I was muggle raised you see."

This made everyone pause.

"That must have been awful," Nott murmured with a distinctly pale complexion. "I can't imagine living like that,"

"how barbaric!" Parkinson cried.

"To think, Primrose Potter living with muggles," Malfoy spat rather disgusted, "what were they even thinking."

Primrose found it hard to disagree. The Dursleys were dreadful, and deep down she truly wished she had been taken in by a magical family.

"I wouldn't recommend it," she murmured, fiddling with the packaging of what was labelled as 'Ice Mice'.

"These aren't real mice, are they?" she asked with a tinge of shame at her ignorance, this made Malfoy scoff and Nott shiver at the thought of eating actual mice.

"No, they're spelled that way, but careful with that, they make your teeth 'chatter and squeak' like mice do," Said Greengrass, "they'll also make you rather cold. It's usually eaten during really hot days."

Primrose took a bite out of the squirming white mouse, feeling a bit ill at the concept of biting what appeared to be a moving creature, but then blushed as the most undignified noises came out of her mouth. The group smirked at her.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy came in. He looked tearful and also rather fearful when he recognised the faces around the room.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

"Longbottom," sneered Parkinson and the boy flinched.

"P-parkinson," he answered back with a stutter.

"We haven't seen your toad," she snapped, glaring at him.

"It'll turn up, maybe ask a Professor when we arrive," suggested Primrose, hoping to be a bit more positive.

"Yes," said the boy miserably before hastily inching out the door. "Well, if you see him..."

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Malfoy as he bit into a liquorice wand, "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Not that I would have, mind you, my parents wouldn't humiliate me like that."

"Why are toads so looked down upon?" Primrose asked, curious.

"They're just embarrassingly archaic," he answered, "they also lack the intelligence that an owl or a cat has, they're possibly only slightly better than a rat and having a rat is highly humiliating enough."

"I see," Primrose murmured, looking out the window in thought. She was now ever more thankful that she had gotten an Owl.

Not long after, the boy came back, along with a bushy haired girl with a rather bossy tone, she was quickly told to get out by an irritated Malfoy. Something about her seemed to displease everyone around the room. Primrose hesitantly brought it up.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families, some people, are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." said Malfoy, Primrose considered this.

At this point she was completely new to the Magical World, she was pitifully ignorant, but Malfoy had been raised in this community, he would know things only a true native would. It was highly tempting.

What he said also made sense. After all, the Dursley's also taught her that people had a hierarchy within the world.

"I wouldn't mind some help," she replied, "though don't expect anything, I like making informed decisions."

This made him smile as they shook hands.

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to blindly do as I suggest," he scoffed. "Only a fool would let another person control them in such a way. And definitely not Slytherins."

She was interested by the the fact that they pointedly did not look at Crabbe and Goyle who were demolishing the every flavour beans.

Primrose followed Greengrass and Parkinson towards the female bathrooms to change, they would soon be arriving at the station. When they returned, Primrose looked outside the window. She could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train seemed to be slowing down.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Primrose's stomach lurched with nerves and she noticed that though the rest of the group were impeccably well-presented, they too looked rather pale as well.

They stayed in their seat until the train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform but Malfoy's group were more dignified and went at a slower, more civilised pace out of the train. Primrose shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Primrose heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Primrose?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Primrose thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

"Over here," Malfoy called in a boat with Zabini, Greengrass and Nott, Primrose gratefully got in with them. It was oddly pleasant being remembered and prioritised. Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle were in another boat with another girl that Primrose didn't recognise.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Longbottom blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Primrose's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Primrose could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - the rest of the school must already be here - but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Longbottom's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on a boy with red hair who had a rather visible smudge on his nose. Primrose nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ears.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Primrose swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" she heard a person ask the red haired boy.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Her heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? She was told explicitly that she wasn't allowed to practice magic at home- what on earth would she have to do? Primrose hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. She looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. Even Malfoy's put together face wavered a bit. No one was talking much except the bossy toned girl from the train, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Primrose tried hard not to listen to her. She'd never been more nervous, never, not even when she'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that she'd somehow turned her teacher's wig blue. She kept her eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and she'll be lead in just to fail miserably. Unremarkable, useless Primrose Potter who would live the rest of her life weak and powerless.

Then something happened that made her jump about a foot in the air - several people behind her screamed.

"What the - ?"

She gasped. So did the people around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though her legs had turned to lead, Primrose got into line behind Greengrass with Malfoy behind her, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Primrose had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Primrose looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. She heard the bossy girl whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

No— Hogwarts, A History's bland description could never do this beautiful piece of magic any justice. She could spend the rest of her life without magic and would still feel blessed to have seen all that she had.

Primrose quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to turn it into something— what was it called, Transfiguration? Primrose thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing - noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, she stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing.

The piece was unique and though it's voice wasn't spectacular, it was still pleasant to listen to.

"_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends."_

Something about those lines called to her in a way Primrose had never truly experienced before. It made her chest throb painfully and her eyes sting a bit.

'_Real friends'_

She tried her best to shake the emotion away.

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" whispered the red haired boy loudly, "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Primrose couldn't help but smile weakly.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Primrose saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Primrose could see a pair of red-headed twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. The girl who sat with Parkinson in the boat.

She was starting to feel definitely sick now. she remembered being picked for teams during gym at her old school. She had always been last to be chosen, not because she was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked her. Terrible things happened to those who were friendly to her around her cousin. His rage rivalled Uncle Vernon's in aggression. No, Dudley had once whispered darkly during 'Primrose Hunting' that she would have no one but him and that she should be thankful that she was so 'protected'.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Primrose noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy that had been in front of Greengrass, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

The bossy toned girl with bushy hair almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Primrose heard the red haired boy groan. She resolved to not get into Gryffindor if she had a choice. It seemed he was vying for that particular house and she found him rather irritating. She also found the Granger girl irritating too.

A horrible thought struck Primrose, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if she wasn't chosen at all? What if she just sat there with the hat over her eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off her head and said there had obviously been a mistake and she'd better get back on the train?

It made her hands shake at the thought, she couldn't bear the thought of it.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy sauntered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

He went to join Greengrass, Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself. Glancing at her, he gave a nod of encouragement which she answered with a wobbly smile.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon"..., "Nott"..., "Parkinson"..., then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"..., then "Perks, Sally-Anne"..., and then, at last -

"Potter, Primrose!"

As Primrose stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Primrose Potter?"

The last thing she saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at her. Next second she was looking at the black inside of the hat. She waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Primrose gripped the edges of the stool and thought, please Slytherin! please Slytherin!

"Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "ahh yes, You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. Well, if you're sure - better be SLYTHERIN!"

Primrose heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. She took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table, sitting beside Malfoy. She was so relieved to have been chosen and placed within the house she wanted, she hardly noticed that the entire hall was deathly silent until she looked up at the shocked faces of everyone in the hall. Did she miss something?

Professor McGonagall stared at her with open mouthed shock.

Squirming in her seat, Primrose felt uncomfortably scrutinised.

Malfoy, finally getting tired of the silence began to clap and as if the entire hall were shaken out of a spell, suddenly Primrose was getting the loudest cheer yet. It seemed that the Slytherin table finally realised that they had been woefully unenthusiastic.

From across the Hall Primrose laughed as the red haired twins from Gryffindor began to comically wail and cry, "Slytherin got Potter! Slytherin got Potter!" they lamented dramatically. They were funny.

She could see the High Table properly now. At the end furthest from her sat Hagrid, who caught her eye and gave her the thumbs up. He looked a bit shaken but he still smiled warmly at her. Primrose grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Primrose recognised him at once from the card Nott had gotten out of the Chocolate Frog he had eaten on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Primrose spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," an incredibly tall Black boy, joined the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was the red haired boy's turn. "Weasley, Ron". He was pale green by now. A second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Finally and lastly, "Zabini, Blaise" was called and made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

"Congratulations, Zabini" Primrose said as he sat across from her.

"It was as expected, but thank you" he replied, looking collected.

Primrose looked down at her empty gold plate. She had only just realized how hungry she was. The pumpkin pasties and sweets seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Primrose didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he - a bit mad?" she asked Malfoy uncertainly.

"Mad?" Malfoy scoffed, "completely barmy would be a better fit! Father keeps hoping for the day the board can finally force his retirement. Would you like some potatoes, Primrose?"

Primrose's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. She had never seen so many things to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

For most of her life, the Dursleys had fed her scraps off their table or cheap canned foods that they didn't bother heating up. It was a luxury to even sneak some

cheese and bread into her cupboard without detection. She had gone days without food once when she had particularly irritated her aunt. At one point she was so hungry she even agreed to eat out of Dudley's hands while on her knees. Anything to get something into her belly.

Now faced with all that she could possibly want, Primrose froze for fear of it being a fever dream.

"Come on, you're going to miss out on the food if you keep dawdling." said Zabini glancing at her. This shook her out of her reverie and she began to place items on her plate taking care to not rush. Everyone else on the table had an air of poise and dignity about them, eating with a level of etiquette which seemed like it was bred into them at birth.

Taking a bite of the roast potatoes, she couldn't help but close her eyes and bite back the noise which desperately wanted to come out of her throat. It was absolutely delicious. Opening her eyes she blushed at the indecipherable expression on Zabini's face.

"That good, huh?" he murmured throatily before focusing on his own meal, grabbing some potatoes for himself.

"I haven't eaten in so long," said an echoing voice beside her, Primrose almost jumped at the frightening visage of a ghost with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood.

"W-would you like some, sir?" she asked out of politeness. The ghost gave a grim smile.

"There would be no point but I thank you for your offer," he said, patting her on her shoulder which made Primrose feel like she had been dunked in ice water before he disappeared.

"That was the Bloody Baron, our house Ghost" said Malfoy with a disturbed expression.

"How did he get covered in blood?" she asked with great interest.

"According to father, no one dares ask. He's absolutely terrifying." was his reply.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As Primrose helped herself to a treacle tart, her thoughts turned to families.

"So are you all descended from magical families then?" she had asked curiously.

"Of course! Greengrass, myself, Parkinson, Nott and most of those within Slytherin are Purebloods." said Malfoy smugly.

"Purebloods?" she thought it an odd phrase, they weren't like Aunt Marge's dogs after all.

"The term 'pure-blood' refers to a family or individual without Muggle blood." Greengrass explained cooly, "Zabini and yourself are considered half-bloods, as his father and your mother have muggle lineage."

Zabini gave Greengrass a rather displeased look. Primrose realised that perhaps being a half-blood wasn't exactly something in which people bragged about.

"He wasn't particularly relevant in my life, seeing as he unfortunately passed away before I was born." drawled Zabini frostily.

"Of course, it seems you're cursed, Zabini," Parkinson piped up with a cruel grin, "all your 'fathers' tend to fall to their demise quite soon after the wedding, don't they?"

"Such a shame, really, my poor mother grieves over each and every one." his response was spoken with an equally vicious smile.

There was silence before it quickly turned to lighter conversation topics.

Primrose, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher turned away from Professor Quirrell and looked at the Slytherin table, accidentally creating eye contact with Primrose who had been staring at him. He looked like someone had punched him in the stomach, his expression full of what could only be described as longing and torment before he looked away, features smoothening out as if nothing had happened. Primrose felt her heart thumping madly in her chest.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" she asked Greengrass, who glanced up before quirking her lips in a ghost of what looked to be a smile.

"That is Professor Snape, he's our Head of House and teaches Potions. I suggest you read ahead, while he favours Slytherin, he expects us to know his subject."

Primrose made a note to re-read her Potions textbook. She wondered why he had looked at her in such a way.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Primrose laughed, but she was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" she muttered to Malfoy.

"Must be," he replied, frowning at Dumbledore. "Why else would he mention it. I wonder if Father knows anything, he's on the school board you know."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Primrose noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

It was dreadful. The off-tune concoction which reverberated around the room was deafening and made most of those standing within Slytherin scowl. Yes, they did not join in.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Gryffindor twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years were lead down into the dungeons by their Prefect Gemma Farley. They all paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"Congratulations! I'm Prefect Gemma Farley, and I'm delighted to welcome you to Slytherin House! Our emblem is the serpent, the wisest of creatures; our house colours are emerald green and silver, and our common room lies behind a concealed entrance right here. The password is: _anguis_." said the Prefect, a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Shuffling inside they all marvelled at the sight before them. The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several older Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs.

"As you can see, its windows look out into the depths of the Hogwarts lake. We often see the giant squid swooshing by – and sometimes more interesting creatures. Now remember the password but if you find it particularly hard, don't worry. It changes every fortnight. Keep an eye on the noticeboard. Never bring anyone from another house into our common room or tell them our password. No outsider has entered it for more than seven centuries."

"Now! Here's a little-known fact that the other three houses don't bring up much: Merlin was a Slytherin. Yes, Merlin himself, the most famous wizard in history! He learned all he knew in this very house! Do you want to follow in the footsteps of Merlin? Or would you rather sit at the old desk of that illustrious ex-Hufflepuff, Eglantine Puffett, inventor of the Self-Soaping Dishcloth?

I didn't think so."

"We Slytherins look after our own – which is more than you can say for Ravenclaw. Apart from being the biggest bunch of swots you ever met, Ravenclaws are famous for clambering over each other to get good marks, whereas we Slytherins are brothers. The corridors of Hogwarts can throw up surprises for the unwary, and you'll be glad you've got the Serpents on your side as you move around the school. This isn't optional, you will move as a unit outside of this common room regardless of personal vendettas or you face the consequences of experiencing the wrong side of Professor Snape. As far as we're concerned, once you've become a snake, you're one of ours – one of the elite.

Because you know what Salazar Slytherin looked for in his chosen students? The seeds of greatness. You've been chosen by this house because you've got the potential to be great, in the true sense of the word."

"Well, I think that's all for now. I'm sure you'll like our dormitories. Girls dormitories are through the left hallway, boys are through the right. First years are on the first floor and subsequently the higher the year you're in, the higher you go up the stairs in each. Bathrooms are right at the end of each hallway. Have a lovely night and congratulations."

Primrose had never felt more proud in her life. She felt like she achieved something, she was part of the elite, she had potential. Looking around the common room, she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Following the other girls through the hallway marked with an elaborate silver sign above the entrance that read 'Girls', Primrose noticed that the doors all had silver placards with single surnames attached to it. She had assumed that they would be sharing rooms. Now she was pleasantly surprised. Strolling down, Primrose found the door marked 'Potter' and entered.

It was a small sized room with an ancient four-poster bed in the centre with green silk hangings, and bedspreads embroidered with silver thread. Medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins covered the walls, and a single silver lantern hanged from the ceiling. There was a large window overlooking the inside of lake much like the one in the common room which replaced the entire strip of wall behind the bed, and at the foot was her trunk. To the right was a large wardrobe made from what seemed like the same wood as the bed frame and to the left was a modest desk and thin bookshelf of the same type. It was cozy, she could hear the lake water lapping against the window.

Grabbing a change of clothes and the small pack left on her bed with a toothbrush and toothpaste inside it, as well as the neatly folded towel, Primrose left her room and walked to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, which to her chagrin was actually pretty far.

She admired how large it was. Rows of stalls lined the walls, as did sinks. Half were toilets and the rest were showers. At least there wouldn't be a long line for either.

Primrose took a shower and sighed happily; the shower stall had a range of soaps, shampoo and conditioners readily available. There were also a few extra knozzles on the walls which made the water come out scented in various fragrances. She loved magic, but she also loved showers in general. The Dursleys were as stingy with them as they were with food and toilet breaks. It was nice to not have to rush for once. It was nice to clean herself with hot water as well.

When she finished she brushed her teeth before trudging tiredly back to her room and collapsing on the most lavish and comfortable bed she had ever experienced.

As she fell asleep, Primrose dreamt of green lights, cold laughter and the smell of rain mixed with cinnamon.

She didn't wake until morning.


	5. Chapter Four

**A Flower By Any Other Name**

**Chapter Four**

"There, look."

"Where?"

"The scrawny one with red hair."

"Did you see her face?"

"Can you see her scar?"

"It's hidden!"

"D'you think she's you-know-who reincarnated?"

"I thought all Potters went to Gryffindor?"

Whispers followed Primrose from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. She was lucky that she had Malfoy, Greengrass and the others to direct her to her classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Primrose was sure the coats of armor could walk.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Unfortunately right off the bat Primrose knew this particular class wouldn't be easy for her, what with the plants literally turning to ashes within her grasp. Professor Sprout had looked at her with surprise before exclaiming "oh dear, that's not good at all!" before telling her to put on her gloves which surprisingly did the trick in keeping the plants alive, though planting things still killed them.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Primrose quickly realised that it was much easier to simply focus on her textbook than attempting to listen. Surprisingly the topics that Binns taught were actually fascinating- just not coming from his mouth.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Primrose's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Primrose had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

The class itself had been predominantly theory based and only near the end of the lesson did they practice turning a matchstick into a needle. Primrose felt herself shiver at the pleasant feeling of magic flowing into her wand, she wondered how she could possibly have lived so long without it.

By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger and herself had made any difference to their matches; while Professor McGonagall gave Granger a rare smile, Primrose herself received a hesitant 'well done' with a long look. She didn't think that was very fair.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they were highly sceptical of his story as he couldn't seem to give any details to the story when asked. Primrose chose to adopt the same method she used for History of Magic, by simply ignoring the Professor and reading the textbook instead. It was slightly harder with the persistent headache which unfortunately started at the beginning of class. This of course was noticed by the Professor and Primrose half expected him to reprimand her but instead he gave her a considering look which was a bit out of character before he continued to stutter his way through the class.

By Friday, Primrose was fairly confident in getting around without assistance but she still enjoyed walking to class in a tight knit group with the others.

"Double Potions today with the Gryffindors, I swear one of them is going to blow up a cauldron," grouched Nott as he checked his schedule during breakfast in the Great Hall.

"At least Professor Snape favours us," said Zabini cheerfully, nibbling on a piece of fruit.

Just then, the mail arrived. Primrose had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Primrose anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble her hair and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Primrose's plate. Primrose tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Primrose,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?_

_I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Primrose borrowed Nott's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at her name. He was stuck on it for a long time it seemed, making the class squirm and Primrose half worried that he couldn't pronounce it before he opened his mouth and a deep voice quietly murmured "Primrose Potter".

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Primrose was starstruck, everything he said sounded glorious, she never realised the power that potions had. It made her want to do well, she definitely didn't want to be considered a dunderhead.

"Weasley!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The Gryffindor jumped in surprise before blushing the shade of his hair. Granger's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir,"

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Five points from Gryffindor for coming into class ineptly prepared."

Weasley looked furious.

Professor Snape turned towards the Slytherin side of the room, eyes scanning around before locking eyes with Primrose, he seemed conflicted before facing his body towards her. She noticed how he avoided looking her in the eyes yet still managed to seem like he was drinking her in.

"Potter," he said, Primrose rather thought he sounded like he was choking. "Perhaps you could enlighten us to the answer."

She was glad now more than ever that she looked through her textbook twice.

"Draught of Living Death, Professor?" she said, though it came out more like a question.

At her answer, dark eyes met her own finally. She couldn't read the expression in them.

"And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Primrose lit up excitedly, this was one of the more fascinating things she learnt.

"In the stomach of a stomach of a goat, sir." she answered confidently.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Professor Snape breathed, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt her cheeks reddening at the attention. Dark eyes flickered to her cheeks before returning to her eyes again.

She hesitated. At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I'm sorry Professor, I think there is no difference, I'm fairly confident that it's the same plant?"

"Yes," he answered after a long pause, "it is. Also known as aconite. 20 points to Slytherin for actually reading your prescribed textbook."

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione before turning to the rest of the class, "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment.

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. Primrose was thankful they were partners. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Longbottom had somehow managed to melt Finnigan's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Finnigan.

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Primrose turned to Malfoy.

"Professor Snape seems to favour you quite a lot, is there a particular reason?"

"That's because he's the Professor's godson," Nott piped up, "you're quite lucky to have been partnered with him,"

"You act as if Slytherin doesn't receive the same treatment as I do," Malfoy argued, though he did look rather smug.

"Well you can't deny you receive more compliments from the Professor," Zabini smirked.

They were interrupted as Weasley angrily stomped towards them, his face red from fury.

"Bet you enjoyed that, Malfoy, you slimy git!" shouted Weasley, Primrose was taken aback as the boy shoved everyone aside in order to stand nose-to-nose with Malfoy. It seemed since the first day off the train, Malfoy and Weasley were at each other's throats. How juvenile, she thought.

"What on earth are you talking about Weasley? Did you inhale too much of Longbottom's potion?" Malfoy drawled.

"I saw your smug face when Neville was drenched in potion! You did something didn't you?!" Primrose couldn't help but roll her eyes, Malfoy generally took great pleasure in Gryffindors hurting themselves, that didn't mean he did anything though. Just that he was a sadistic prat.

"I was on the other side of the room, you lint for brain." Malfoy snapped looking irritated now.

"I think we're being too heated," Primrose interrupted, "Malfoy, would you like

to come with me to Hagrid's?"

"Don't tell me you're actually going to visit the great oaf?" he sneered.

Primrose gave him a cold look, "then enjoy your little spat with Weasley," she said frostily, this made the sneer fall off his face.

"No, wait, yes I'll come with you." he said hastily.

"We'll come too," Zabini added, Nott nodded in affirmation.

"Parkinson and I will be in the common room if you need us," said Greengrass before walking away with Parkinson.

"Don't ignore me!" Weasley snarled, Primrose gave him a disinterested look.

"It's not ignoring you, we just have other priorities besides watching you and Malfoy trade words." she said, "have a good day Weasley."

They walked away in silence, leaving Weasley alone to stew. Primrose was still rather upset with Malfoy for having called Hagrid an oaf.

As they left the castle and made their way across the grounds, Malfoy spoke up.

"I apologise for having offended you with my words, they were poorly chosen in the heat of the moment with Weasley." he looked stiff and uncomfortable. Zabini and Nott watched with great interest.

"I accept your apology. However, I'm quite partial to Hagrid, regardless of how others may view him. He has been nothing be kind to me, I would rather those I associate with speak about him civilly when around me."

Malfoy gave a single jerky nod of his head, Primrose gave him a smile.

"Ah, friends again," said Nott with a faux soppy expression. Primrose gave a merry laugh, growing quite tired of the stuffy atmosphere . There was no one around besides them anyways so there was no need to maintain their dignified image.

"I think you'll all quite like Hagrid, he's very kind." she said, "he's the one who saved me from the Dursleys."

"Your muggle relatives?" Malfoy asked, Primrose nodded.

"My relatives holed us up in a lighthouse," she said somberly, "my uncle was trying to hide from the owls."

"Then on my birthday, Hagrid breaks down the door and tells me I'm a witch and that I was enrolled into Hogwarts. The look on my relative's face–"

_"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, you're the spitting image of her, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal - except if I'd had known just how vile you really were, a dirty whore in a child's body— bewitching my family with your nasty powers—"_

"Well, anyways, I'm grateful to him and would appreciate it if you were at least civil when inside his home." she finished darkly.

None of the boys knew what to say and so they settled for ensuring that they would be perfectly polite to Hagrid.

Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Primrose knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang - back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Nott and started licking his ears. Said boy looked rather repulsed yet oddly enough still pet the dog. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy," Primrose told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. At the names, Hagrid fumbled, a single rock cake fell to the floor.

"I-I see," stuttered Hagrid, looking at the boys in his hut, Malfoy surprisingly took a step forward.

"Pleasure to meet you, Hagrid, thank you for inviting us into your home," he said politely making Hagrid stare as if he'd seen a miracle occur. Primrose was touched by this.

"Oh, well, uh," was all Hagrid managed before giving Malfoy an awkward pat on the shoulder. Malfoy flashed an expression of displeasure before it smoothened out.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Primrose pretended to be enjoying them unlike the others who simply just held them in their hands as she told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Nott's knee and drooled all over his robes.

As Hagrid went to refill the teapot, Primrose picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet :

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Primrose read it with interest, it had been coincidentally broken into the same day that Primrose and Hagrid had been at the bank.

Soon it was almost dinnertime and Primrose gave Hagrid a hug goodbye as the group wandered back towards the castle, pockets full of rock cakes which they had been too polite to refuse. She thanked them for being so well behaved and they all looked as if it would be a given that they, the wizarding elites, would have been civil. She didn't think so. Primrose was certain that had she not requested for them to be nice, they would have been incredibly rude to Hagrid who did not sit high on the social ladder.

* * *

**A/N:** For those who have gotten this far, I'm sure you've realised how closely I've stuck to the book. That was intentional, I've always been interested in stories which follow the timeline but diverge. Anyways hope you guys like this so far. I don't know why I decided to write this tbh. I guess I was bored? :) Romance and pairings won't happen til third year possibly, idk.


End file.
